


Laika

by hisen



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Cold War, M/M, The Space Race, it's what their relationship is built on, treaty smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-02
Packaged: 2017-12-07 05:23:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/744750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hisen/pseuds/hisen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For America, exploring space has been his lifelong dream. For Russia, it's just one more way to get at America. At least that's what he thinks until they finally talk about Laika.</p><p>(Rating is for final chapter)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1957

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sure I'm not the first person to think of this but it wouldn't leave me alone. Also any excuse to write about the Cold War (and Spacenerd!America) is okay with me. The Explicit rating is just for the final chapter. 
> 
> There will also be footnotes, but not in this chapter. They'll just have extra information so they can be skipped if you're not interested in the history of space exploration/the Cold War.

There is a dog in space, right above them. She is flying over them, thousands of miles above, circling the planet they’re standing on – or more accurately sitting on as another fight breaks out.

America’s not sure what the argument is about. He tuned out England as soon as he got up to speak, knowing that he’d just be complaining again and they wouldn’t have anything to do with Russia’s latest actions. He wants to get up, flip over the table in front of him to get their attention - he’s done it before and he can do it again - and remind them that Russia is in space _right now_. He has the advantage, he’s mastered the heavens while they’re arguing about something that happened last century (Europeans are unbelievable, their obsession with the past confuses and disgusts him, why do they always look back instead of forward?).

Sputnik was bad enough. It was humiliating for his bosses and for him, who’s always wanted space to be his ever since he first saw the stars. To be beaten there by his rival, the one person who refuses to accept his position makes him furious. But the dog…

It’s not just that Russia’s beaten him in sending a living being into orbit. He remembers the time before the Europeans came to him, when he was more of an idea than a nation. When he had hidden from the people who didn’t need a nation, especially when the nation was a sign of a terrible future to come. Back then he had the animals instead. Sometimes, he could feel their emotions for a brief moment. The contentment of a buffalo on the plains, the excitement of wolves hunting in the woods, the fear of their prey and the nerves of a bird learning to fly. After the day Finland saw him in the grass he never felt them again, but he still remembers.

He can’t help but wonder about how she feels in her capsule. America likes dogs but he didn’t think he’d ever be this concerned with a mutt from Moscow called Laika, who’s currently circling him at breathtaking speed.

He sinks into his chair, his anger, resentment and worry coursing through him. He’ll show Russia who’s going to win this race. His bosses agree that they’ll do whatever it takes to show Russia who’s the real master of space.

But he still wonders if Russia has ever felt what animals feel. He has to assume he can’t, because it’s so raw and unfiltered, what little he can remember means that he’d never- 

He would make sure she had a way back home at least.


	2. 1961

At the next world meeting after Gagarin, after the Bay of Pigs, with a wall splitting Berlin, America is furious. Every discussion turns into an argument between them, often ending with America restrained by his allies as Russia sits and _smiles_ at him like he wants to be punched.

America is not foolish enough to do it but it’s tempting. On the scale of incidents between them it’s low down, especially with their soldiers actually staring each other down in Berlin[1], but Russia sending a man into space before him feels like a personal insult.

He waits outside the meeting room as it concludes, unable to keep his temper and so kicked out by the other countries to cool his head – not both of them, just him. It’s yet another fucking humiliation and goddamn France and England just let it happen, two countries he needs to present a unified front with against that Russian bastard.

He hears the noise of people getting up, the meeting done, and the other nations stream out of the doors. He stares at them and they avoid his gaze. Good, he needs to remind them who’s a superpower now, who’s the world’s hero and it’s not the Soviet Union or those Europeans he saved from total collapse.

His eyes meet lavender, the eyes blink and curve into a smile.

“Ah, so the hero is waiting to see me, da?” America bites his tongue, he can’t bear to even talk to him, just wants to start yelling but he knows the consequences of pushing it too far. Everyone is too on edge for more fighting between them, this close to doomsday. “Are you here to congratulate me?”

“Congratulate - what the fuck do I have to congratulate you on?” He spits out and Russia _grins_ because he’s enjoying this so much.

“On comrade Gagarin’s successful space voyage. I know how keen you are on space exploration.” America feels himself shaking, he’s so angry that his vision goes blurry because there it finally is. The proof that the space race is as much a personal insult to him as a battle between their bosses. He wants to tell him he’s wrong, that he doesn’t care.

He'd like to but it's not physically possible. 

“Fuck. You.” He finally mutters, because it’s the only words he can get out.

“Hmm?”

“I said, fuck you!” He yells and he smashes his fist into the wall next to him. He can feel the glee radiating off Russia on having got into his head like this without even having to look at him.

“Oh, but I’d be the one who’d fuck you, you capitalist dog.” Despite his anger America flushes because he’s been tripped up by his own words again and even worse his brain is stuck on that image of Russia fucking him, which makes _no_ sense because he hates Russia more than he’s hated anyone else. Russia is gone before he has a response, the shaking Baltic states following him as his scarf trails behind him. He tries to punch the wall again but his wrist is caught before his fist hits it.

He looks down and sees two hands on his wrist. Since when have they been so weak that both of them had to use their strength to stop him?

“Yes, yes, you’re angry but please refrain from destroying the place Amérique.” France sighs as they pull down his arm.

“You need to learn to control your temper.” America spins around incredulously to face his accuser.

“Are you of all people telling me to control my temper?”

“What do you mean of all people you brat- ” England stops yelling and shuts his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m not the one whose temper could set off a nuclear war, America.”

“I see the irony of Angleterre lecturing anyone on their temper-”

“Seriously, you’re unbelievable old man-”

“Oh shut up and listen you idiot–”

“But big brother agrees. You are a superpower who can destroy the world with one press of a button, you must act like one.”

“I didn’t recall either of you becoming my parents.” America can’t stand when he’s lectured like this by his allies, both of them acting like he’s a colony just playing up when he’s his own country who had to save them by himself twice.

“You’re acting enough like a child that I have to treat you like one.” America opens his mouth and France glares at England and America.

“If you two wish to have this argument again, you can but _later_. I am tired of it and we need a unified front more now than ever.”

“But you didn’t stop the others from throwing me out, what kind of allies are you anyway?” He realises how bratty he sounds, but he is still too angry to care.

“We’re your allies, not your lapdogs.” England snaps, but his voice softens as he continues. “We support you – especially on Berlin – but if you’re acting like a reckless idiot, we have to treat you like one. Well, more reckless and idiotically than usual.” America sighs and nods, the anger draining away. He has to stop letting Russia get to him like this.

As he walks away from the meeting room with the other two nations, he thinks about the best way he can get back at Russia. His pride is still stinging from Russia’s gloating and declaration that he’d be on top – not that America has ever had to have sex to formalise a treaty or strengthen an alliance like the other nations did in the past.

They step out of the conference center into the cold night and America looks up to see the full moon in the sky, hanging low above the skyline of the city. The Gemini program, he thinks to himself, as he shuts one eye and pinches the moon between his thumb and finger. He’ll show him by putting an American on the moon.

  


* * *

[1]On the 27-8th October 1961, Soviet and American tanks faced off at Checkpoint Charlie in Berlin after a dispute about an American diplomat’s papers being checked by GDR guards, with tensions already high from Soviet demands for western withdrawal from Berlin and the building of the wall. Both sides had orders to fire if fired upon.


	3. 1969

He’s nervous. His palms sweat and he wipes them on his pants.

“So far so good, Mr Jones.” The man on the terminal he’s standing next to reassures him. America grins, nervous and excited, putting his hands back into his pant pockets as he looks out across the control room. It’s busier than when he first arrived, or it would have been at the launch. America had been in Florida then, watching from a beach in the distance with the crowds that had gathered to see the first men off to the moon. He could have gone into the firing room, like he did the other missions but he had wanted to be with ordinary Americans to see their biggest achievement.

He had watched the preparations, helped a mom explain to her kid how the ship would take off when she’d been struggling with the technical details (“Are you a rocket scientist?” “No ma’am, I’m just an interested amateur”).  He’d been filled with relief and wonder when the end of the countdown was reached and the ground shook as the rocket raced off on its journey.

He only wishes he had been on that rocket too. America has wanted a lot of things, but he has never wanted anything as badly as he wants to be an astronaut. For now, it’s impossible for him, but one day, he hopes he can go. He could be the first nation in space.

Despite all the reassurances he tells himself, as he waits days later in the control room to watch the descent onto the surface, America is nervous. There is so much that can go wrong at this final stage, as they attempt to do something that’s never been done before. As he looks around the room, he notices that there are several things going wrong and watches anxiously as data is analysed and information passed on[1].

It’ll be okay, he thinks to himself. These people are the best in the world. Russia must be envious of the sheer talent and capability America’s people have over his. The thought isn’t as reassuring as it would normally be.

“They’re coming in long.” One man nearby comments and the room seems to collectively hold its breath as the readings come in from the astronauts as they descend.

Then the news comes that they’ve landed on the Sea of Tranquility and the room relaxes. America feels his shoulders sag in relief, and one of the operators switching over pats him on the back.

“I know how you feel. It’s amazing to finally be here, after all these years.” America beams at him like a proud parent because the operator has no idea how correct he is. He has been waiting for over four hundred years for this, and nobody here knows who he really is.

He stays to watch them make their first steps onto the surface and as he watches, like millions of people both in his country and across the world are, he thinks of the people he wishes were still here to see this. He thinks of the phone calls he’s received from the other nations wishing him success (“Always knew you would” a very drunk England had told him before bursting into tears – what else could he have expected from his former brother).

There was, of course, no call from Russia. He didn’t expect one and he’s not sure how he would have felt to hear from his rival on one of the happiest days of his life if he had called. He’ll just have to rub it in at their next meeting.

 _“Hey Russia, aren’t you going to say congratulations?”_ He wonders if Russia is watching the astronauts right now like he is, cursing his name as Americans beat him to the moon. He frowns when he realises it’s the dead of night in Moscow so he’s probably asleep. He’ll have to send him a recording somehow, he’ll have to ask one of the team later if it’s possible.

As historic words are broadcasted across the planet he feels a burst of pride and is washed over by the feelings of his people. For the first time in two years, they are not angry, confused and scared feelings. They are of wonder, of joy, of happiness, and he likes to think that he can feel the astronaut’s feelings too, even if they’re far beyond his reach.

When he leaves the Manned Space Center, half dead as he stumbles into his pitch black hotel room, he is overtaken by an unexpected urge.

He wants to talk to the only nation who’ll understand this feeling.  

He dials Russia’s number, not caring how expensive an international call will be from a hotel, and waits as wires under the ocean connect him, the long ringing echoing in his ears.

“Da?” He finally hears, no formal greeting on his private line.

“So what did you think? Did you feel this excited when Gagarin went into space? Did you watch your scientists and just think ‘you people are amazing and I’m proud of you’?”

There is a groan of disgust, followed by furious Russian as the phone is slammed down on him. America looks at the phone and frowns, even though he doesn’t know what other reaction Russia would have had to his call. Even he doesn’t know why he rang. It wasn’t gloating (okay, maybe a little), he did think Russia would understand.

He hangs up the handset and collapses on the bed, not bothering to change before he passes out.

  


* * *

[1] During the descent, the guidance computer for the astronauts started spitting errors. However these marked executive overflows: the computer could not do all its tasks in real time and so postponed non-essential to landing tasks for later and didn’t cause any problems.


	4. 1975

Despite what his bosses say and how important it is, he doesn’t like détente. He knows Russia far too well to trust this sudden goodwill after twenty years of indirect warfare and Russia feels the same way. He doesn’t even know what the Soviets are trying to get out of it anymore. Russia’s boss is becoming less helpful and now the war is over, it’s less pressing for them too.

“Hmm, I think your cosmonauts will be impressed.” America looks up from the agenda he’s supposed to be following – he doesn’t know why they bother to give him one, Russia purposely changes the direction every time he tries to do something from it. He puts a line under “Helsinki” [1] and puts the paper down.

“They’ll be ready for any tricks your astronauts play on them. Besides, my shuttle program is going to be reaaaaally impressive when it’s done. There’s a reason we’re building the docking module and not you. You’d probably have to duct tape it together.” Russia continues to smile but he can hear the words “kolkolkol” under his breath and America beams at him.

“I’m always impressed by you, America.”

“Oh, really? I am a pretty impressive guy!” He knows he shouldn’t be boasting, shouldn’t be acting like a brat but he’s been trying to breach the topic of the conference in Helsinki coming up for nearly an hour and Russia has managed to get off course every time.

“It’s impressive how ignorant and stupid a country can be. You reach new depths every time I see you.” Russia laughs and the atmosphere freezes in the room.

“Must be because I have to see you so often, as each time I have to talk to you I can feel my brain cells die off.” The two of them smile at each other, and America wonders what would happen if he jumped up and strangled the bastard already.

He hopes his boss finishes soon so he can get out of here.

“I hope it goes well.” Russia suddenly says as America starts to doodle on his paperwork, mentally giving up on this meeting like the other times they’ve met in the past year.

“Huh? Oh, the joint mission.” America smiles, a real smile this time as he thinks of all the preparation work he’s seen going on for the mission. Now that he’s won the space race he has nothing to feel inferior to Russia about. “It will! They’re working really hard to get everything ready. They won’t let anyone down, our astronauts are professionals.”

“Even if you call them by such an incorrect term.” They have this argument every time they talk about their space missions, and America scowls.

“It doesn’t mean that they sail into the stars, that’d be stupid! Just that they sail around them. And it sounds better anyway.”

“Then why not use a different term? Do Americans love being wrong so much?” America’s eyebrow twitches but he doesn’t acknowledge the baiting.

“I’m sure your astronauts will do well too.” Russia looks surprised at his comment, and he’s not sure where it’s come from either. He’s never complimented the Soviet program before, not even when it was doing better than the American one. They lapse into silence, but it’s less hostile than usual.

Maybe his bosses had a point when they said the Apollo–Soyuz Test Project[2] would be good for détente. Their race to explore space has defined their relationship as much as their indirect wars and their experiences of Berlin. If they weren’t so ideologically opposed, he’d even think it’d be a good idea to expand it further, do more work together in space. Share resources. If it was someone like Canada or one of the Europeans he could.

Maybe if this goes well, he could suggest further missions. He snaps out of his thoughts and looks at Russia, who’s still smiling at him, as if he’s expecting him to share his thoughts with the rest of the class.

“I was thinking if this mission goes well, we could do more in future. We could do more with shared resources; maybe even look at…Mars or somewhere. Of course that’d be if this lasts…” And he could tell from the look on Russia’s face that he thinks détente will be a long term affair as much as he does.

“What do you want, America?” America blinks at the suddenness of the question.

“What?”

“With me.” America doesn’t know why his mind instantly goes to where it does, the memory of Russia telling him he’d be on top, when clearly he’s talking politics and-

Oh god why is he thinking about sex with Russia in the middle of a meeting and it’s not even the first time he’s thought about it at a meeting and it was going well when they were talking about the mission for once. He can feel his face go bright red and Russia is…not smirking like he was expecting him to. His face looks expectant. He almost wishes he was smirking because then it’d just be Russia trying to mess with his head and not whatever this is.

“I want to go back to not having to see you like this. I hate these meetings – you haven’t changed, I haven’t changed, and I don’t know what your damn country wants when you’re still undermining us whenever possible- ”  He doesn’t know why he’s saying this, it’s true but it’s not what he wants from Russia.  Instead he almost wants to peel back Russia’s face and find someone he can understand, someone who’s like him. He wants the impossible.

“And you keep invading anyone who doesn’t agree with you.” The unknown look on Russia’s face is gone. They’re back to their normal sparring between two countries who just will never agree because they’re fundamentally opposed.

“We need to protect our borders as much as you, isn’t that why you took half of Europe when they didn’t even-”

America knows he’s stepped over an unspoken line as soon as the words are out of his mouth. Europe is supposed to be done as a topic, the borders agreed on and immoveable. Russia doesn’t shout, because that’s not how Russia does anger, but his voice is low and filled with rage when he replies.

“You do not know, you American bastard, what I’ve suffered. I need them in my house. That is where they belong.” Russia gets up, conversation over and goes to the door. “And that is all Helsinki is to me. The human rights are irrelevant.” America wants to add that human rights are always relevant, but Russia has gone.

He sinks down in his chair and pulls Texas off to rub his eyes. He got an answer on Helsinki at least.

And because of this policy he’s bound to see Russia again soon.

“Damn it.”

  


* * *

[1] Final act of the Conference on Security and Co-operation in Europe, held in Helsinki July-August 1975, which involved most of Europe and the US and Canada. Lead to the ‘Helsinki Accords’ that outlined a set of provisions that all parties agreed to, known as the ‘three baskets’ divided in political, economical and cultural –which included education and human rights – provisions. The USSR only agreed to the third in order to confirm its post 1945 borders and get economic support.

[2] The Apollo–Soyuz Test Project came about from the Cooperation in the Fields of Science and Technology agreement signed by both countries at the 1972 Moscow summit. In July 1975 the two ships docked together and the astronauts and cosmonauts exchanged gifts, conducted scientific experiments together, visited each other’s ships and conversed together in both English and Russian. It was also the final Apollo mission and the USA’s last manned mission until the space shuttle was finished.


	5. 1986

Space was never neutral for them but it’s almost like the space race has restarted. He doesn’t understand why so many people were unhappy with the idea of shooting missiles down with lasers from space. It made sense and surely the only people who’d mind were the ones who’d be trying to shoot missiles at him anyway.

Russia, essentially.

The last he heard on the project they were moving away from lasers, which was disappointing but he needs to be realistic. It just needs to work, because even with their new leader they can’t trust the Soviets.

He’s not in Florida for anything to do with SDI though. He’s here for a launch; he still tries to get to them whenever he can. It’s easy to grow cynical but he can’t, he still believes in travelling the stars, still can’t quite believe his childhood dream has come true. There is even discussion of letting him on a mission sometime in the future, under tight secrecy and security.

Today he is watching from the firing room, standing near the windows as the countdown starts. It’s much warmer in here than outside, there was still ice when he touched down at the airport. His heart is pounding as they reach fifty-nine seconds and counting and it might not just be him, it might be coming from the millions of children he knows are watching this launch.

The shuttle takes off and his breath catches in his throat as he watches his space program, his pride and joy still after all these years even if his bosses don’t care as much anymore, blasting into the atmosphere and –

_Wait_

Then there is no shuttle, but an explosion, smoke trailing through the air as debris starts to fall, down into the vast and waiting Atlantic.

The silence in the firing room, filled seconds before with the voice of the shuttle’s commander, makes his blood go cold. Houston tries to regain contact with them, admitting there’s a serious error but not falling apart, because they need to be calm in an emergency, and America feels like his heart has just been ripped out of his chest. He doesn’t realise he’s crying, tears silently pouring down his face until one of the observers passes him a nearby box of tissues.

The tears are not his own, and though he can feel the shock and growing horror of adults it’s overwhelmed by the tidal wave of fear, confusion and tears of children.  Their emotions are rawer and deeper without the filter of experience. He pulls off Texas to try to dry his eyes, knowing how strange he must look to the people around him but unable to stop.

“Mr Jones.” He takes his hand away from his eyes and puts Texas back on. He recognises them, he’s had these security agents for a couple of years now for days like these, but he can’t bring himself to smile at them like he normally would. He nods and follows them out of the firing room. “The President wants to see you as soon as we arrive in D.C.”

“Right.” He’s relieved to see he has his voice still, he’s been muted by national disasters before (but never as long as with Pearl Harbor, never). He gets into the back of the waiting car outside and stares blankly out of the window as they pull away. He doesn’t realise he’s crying again until they stop at the airfield and he notices the tear splashes on his pants.

When they land, they go directly to the White House and America is led to the Oval Office. He knows why he’s here, even if he hadn’t been at the launch, even if everything had gone okay, he would have wanted to see him. America is used to being used as a barometer of the public mood. He’s not the first president to do it and he won’t be the last.

His boss takes one look at him.

“We have to postpone the address. Get me a new speech.” He tells the aide next to him, and he kindly tells America he can leave.

He was planning to stay, to watch the State of the Union address but now it is cancelled he returns home. He hides from the news and doesn’t watch the speech[1].

  


* * *

[1] Reagan initially planned to continue with the State of the Union address scheduled on the same day but postponed it for a week. The speech he read on national TV instead is considered to be one of the best American speeches of the 20th century. It can be read here http://www.americanrhetoric.com/speeches/ronaldreaganchallenger.htm 


	6. 1987

“I am sorry for your loss too.” America’s head jerks up and he straightens out from his slumped position to a more statesman-like position. Russia hasn’t moved since the last time he’d looked at him, ten minutes before when America had stopped arguing with the other nation, the words of his boss ringing in his ear.

_‘Try to understand him. I think we can work with them now. Times have changed.’_

He wanted to argue, he can remember détente and what a farce it was at the end but even he can admit that Russia’s boss is different from the others, even if Russia is the same as always.

“Sorry for what? Which loss?” The words come out harsher than he wanted them to and he wants to hit himself. Here is Russia offering something that vaguely looks like a peace offering and he treats it like he’s offering him a dead animal. He sees Russia’s eye narrow, though he didn’t look away from the window, and then shut.

“Your astronauts.”

“Oh.” He’s not sure if he’s going oh at condolences offered nearly two years after the event when he’d been silent at the time, oh at him calling them astronauts, or oh at how Russia looks in the pale light reflecting off the snow outside. He looks worn and that he’s letting America see how tired he is – it’s a radical change. They’ve never shown weakness to each other before, instead trying to be as invincible as possible.

“…Thanks.” Russia opens his eyes again but doesn’t look at America. He watches the snow falling in the fading afternoon light instead. America is torn between yelling at him to get him to look over or continuing to watch him. America doesn’t want to reflect on what wanting to watch Russia like this means, and yelling would spoil the moment so he goes for a middle path.

“It probably doesn’t look like that much snow to you huh?” He laughs a little too loudly but it works and Russia looks at him. He’s not smiling; instead he’s looking at America as if he’s never seen him before.

“In Siberia people sunbathe in this weather.” He finally answers. “Maybe you should visit? I can arrange that.” He smiles but it’s not as malicious as usual, his heart is not seriously into his threat.

“Maybe I should.” Russia looks surprised for a moment before fixing his face into that smile again. Normally America would shout and threaten and talk about freedom and liberty for all and how wrong gulags are but he realises he needs to make an effort. This time it’ll be a serious effort, unlike in détente, because right now their bosses are trying to do something historic[1].

“Maybe I will take you to Star City, show you how real cosmonauts work.” America snorts.

“I can go to Florida to see that.” The venom present earlier on in the meeting is gone though. America is starting to think that even if they do not become friends like he is with Japan or (as much as he’s loathed to call him a friend) England, they could at least have a semi civil relationship. He wonders if he can breach a subject he’s been thinking about since Challenger.

“Hey, can I ask you a question?”

“I think you just did da?” America rolls his eyes but takes it as permission that he can.

“Remember when I called you after the moon landing?” He sees Russia stiffen slightly, which suggest he does, but America presses on. “I wasn’t doing it to gloat – okay maybe a little bit – but because I thought you’d be the one who’d understand what it’s like to see your people do that. So can you tell me now what your answer is?”

The room is silent, apart from the blood pounding in his ears and the ticking clock. The silence goes on until America thinks Russia won’t answer.

“I did feel like that when Gagarin went into space. With Tereshkova[2] too, and every time they go into space.” Russia closes his eyes and looks up. America thinks that he’s remembering the launches he’s seen.

“Did it hurt when Gagarin…” He trails off and Russia nods, not opening his eyes.

“Not like the wars.” He pauses, as if thinking of all of his losses, and America almost wants to tell him that he can stop; he doesn’t have to think about it. “Not like Soyuz 11[3] or even Komarov[4].” He stops again and America is about to tell him they can move on when he starts speaking again. “But…the one I felt sorry for as Laika.” Russia opens his eyes and it’s the most honest America has seen him. He nearly falls off his seat in surprise.

“Laika?” He’s surprised enough to call her by her real name, not Muttnik or Curly like he has before.

“She was a stray. A stray must be tough to survive in Moscow but her heart was still there. All she wanted from us was love, to be friends. She gave us her trust and we used it to send her into space and let her die there.” He remembers Lithuania saying that Russia always claimed he just wanted friends. Maybe Russia could relate to a dog who just wanted a friend. He thinks of Russia meeting her, being surprised by the fact that this dog who’s been through so much in her life can still love, can still trust people. Maybe she’d waggled her tail and had wanted to play with him, the mighty Russia, and he finds himself caught between laughter and tears at the image.

“She just wanted love. Easy to fool, easy to please, a lot like you.” America opens his mouth to complain at being compared to a dog – again – but then he sees the affection in Russia’s eyes and he’s stumped.

“America, I will never be your ally, no matter what my boss does. I know your path is wrong and I do not want to follow it. The things your country does are despicable to me.”

“I- ” Russia cuts him off with a look that makes him shrink back, a look that says ‘if you will not shut up I will make you shut up’ even though he is still smiling.

“He says it will last, da, but I do not believe him. I know my people. Things will get worse, they always do. I can’t believe in his hopes for the future.” America frowns, he thought this meeting was going well but he has clearly misjudged the situation. His boss will not be happy.

“But Alfred,” his head jerks up, he’s never had Russia call him that before and it grabs his attention instantly.  “There are things about you which I do not despise. Space has always been your dream. The race was not for you about beating me alone like it was for me.  I learnt to love space, but you always did. You were always looking forward and up, and while you trample others that way, it is better than always having to look behind.”

As America tries to form a reply, the doors opens. A grey haired man in a suit looks in and calls out to Russia in their native language. A brief conversation follows and America gathers his thoughts. The door shuts and they are alone again.

“They want to talk to me.” Russia gets up from his seat, and America gets up and grabs his hand to stop him as he moves towards the door.

“Wait, I just want to ask one more thing.” The hand inside his is warm and Russia isn’t encouraging him but he hasn’t taken his hand away either.

“I don’t do fucks for treaties.”

“What? No!” His face flushes and he can see Russia’s smile twist in amusement. This time he refuses to be thrown off. “Before you had people, when you were just an idea taking root, did you ever feel what the animals felt?” Russia looks thrown by the question and the smile finally slips off his face. “I don’t know if you remember that far back but…” His smile is back but it’s almost affectionate.

“Yes. Especially the bears. They would let me wrestle with their cubs.” America feels a rush of relief, because despite the differences in ideology, people and history, there are similarities there. He always knew deep down there had to be, but he thinks of Russia as a child, alone on a hostile continent and he suddenly feels grateful to England, despite all the bullshit, for sparing him that. But it’s the sympathy and the images of Russia in the woods sleeping with only the bears for company like he did with the buffalo –

He drops Russia’s hands, grabs his face instead, and kisses him. It is ugly, their teeth clash and once Russia gets over the shock he dominates it, biting on his tongue which hurts like hell but he doesn’t push him away. It is Russia who pulls away, looks at him like he’s really seeing him for the first time and then smirks. America feels himself blush.

“Maybe I will change my policy on treaty fucks, da?” His smirk turns into a leer and then he leans down to kiss him again. America lets him into his mouth even though holy shit he’s making out with his biggest rival, and he doesn’t stop until Russia bites on his lip too hard and he shoves him away this time because he’s now bleeding. Russia’s smile reveals nothing as he leaves the room, leaving America still standing there in shock.

‘What the hell just happened?’ America thinks, and he’s in such a daze that he doesn’t notice the aide sent to collect him until he’s right in front of him, calling his name.

“Are you okay Mr Jones?” He nervously asks as they march through corridors, on their way to the President.

“Yes. Fine.” He tries not to think about the fact he has to face Russia again later.

  


* * *

[1] The Intermediate-Range Nuclear Forces Treaty, which eliminated intermediate nuclear and conventional missiles from both countries’ arsenals and was the first real move towards arms reduction as opposed to limitation.  

[2] Valentina Tereshkova was the first woman to go into space, who went on a mission in June 1963. It’d be another nineteen years until another woman (Svetlana Savitskaya) went into space. She’s also notable because she previously worked in a textile factory instead of coming from a military background like most early cosmonauts and astronauts.

[3] First and only manned mission to board at the world’s first space station Salyut 1 in June 1971. However a malfunction in the ship led the death of the three cosmonauts when the crew cabin depressurised. Two of the back-up crew for this mission were later on the crew for the Apollo–Soyuz Test Project.

[4] Vladimir Komarov died in 1967 on the mission Soyuz 1 when his parachute failed to deploy correctly. There were over 203 design faults reported to party leaders before launch, but political pressure led to their concerns being overruled. It’s alleged that Komarov was aware of this but did the mission to spare Gagarin, his friend and back-up. It’s also rumoured that he angrily cursed the people who put him in a faulty spaceship as he crashed. This lack of clarity over what actually happened is not an unusual situation in Soviet history as there is still much hidden away in archives out of public access. 


	7. 1992

“Oh jesus.” He feels Russia shift over him, the movement of the bed he’s lying on reminds him of exactly what’s going on and suddenly he wants the ground to swallow him up because even though he’s wanted this for years now this is possibly the most embarrassing thing he’s ever done.

“You want to stop?” Russia asks from above him, and he’s glad he’s got his eyes shut because if he looked up right now into his he knows he’d say yes even though he doesn’t want to stop.

“No, it’s just – this is weird as fuck.” He admits. “I mean is this not weird for you?” He opens his eyes and Russia is looking at him like he’s the biggest moron on the planet.

“No. Was it weird when I blew you in the conference room?”

“Yes!”

“You didn’t mind.” Russia comments mildly but his face is smug and America wants to push him off and tell him he’s going back but then he remembers the fact that even if he goes now he’ll still be doing the walk of shame, never mind the regret he’ll feel roughly thirty minutes after he leaves.

* * *

Tonight had started off as a regular diplomatic dinner between the two countries at the conclusion of a successful summit. Then Russia’s boss had started drinking, and he hasn’t seen a Russian leader drink at a dinner like that since Khrushchev. He looked over to his boss and he’d shrugged, telling him to leave it as long as he doesn’t decide to do anything rash. By the end of the dessert course Russia’s boss is trying to get Russia to drink. He had a few but he was still sober and he shot a look at America, as if asking him to rescue him.

“Hey, do you mind if I take Russia for a while?” Russia’s boss frowned as the translator started to do her work, but Russia had started talking too. The two looked at each other and then his boss started laughing. Russia tolerated it and got up from the table, gesturing for America to follow him even though they’re in his country and not Russia. America flashed an apologetic grin to the rest of the table as he excused them.

* * *

“It’s good, da?” Russia leans down on him and starts biting on his ear, and America moans in response. Even though they haven’t gone all the way – America has never slept with another nation and Russia hasn’t in over a hundred years and the past few years have been rushed enough without rushing this – Russia already knows several of his weak spots.

“Don’t lean so damn hard, you’re fucking heavy.” He finally spits out, pushing Russia off him because damn it, what do they feed this guy anyway? He sits up into a more upright position and starts undoing the rest of his shirt, which was what Russia had been doing before he’d interrupted him. His bowtie has long since been lost on the floor – good, he can’t stand the damn things.

“You’re nervous.” Russia comments as he watches him take off his shirt.

“No shit, this is the first time I’ve done this.” Once he would have denied it but this close it’d be ridiculous to lie.

“You should relax. At least we have nobody reading the treaty out as we do it.”

“You’re joking right?” Russia shakes his head and America laughs. “No wonder they stopped doing it, who could keep a boner up with that happening.”

“Prussia always said it encouraged him.”  America rolls his eyes.

“He would.” He tugs at Russia’s bowtie and tries to undo it for him. He’s not used to Russia in fancy formalwear that’s handmade by an Italian tailor instead of the Soviet suits that never fitted that well. He looks better in them but America sometimes misses the old suits.

He’s glad the Cold War is over, glad that he can have this kind of relationship with Russia where they’re not lovers but they mess around with each other. But despite the optimism the end of the war brought, despite the fact he always wanted Russia to change enough that they could understand each other, these changes worry him.

Because with Russia, especially with things going badly at home, he doesn’t know how long these changes will last.

 “The United States of America and the Russian Federation, hereinafter referred to as the Parties;   
Considering the role of the two States in the exploration and use of outer space for peaceful purposes;”[1] He looks up at Russia as he starts to undo his shirt, trying not to think about the soft flesh under his fingers.

“Are you seriously…”

“Desiring to make the results of the exploration and use of outer space available for the benefit of the peoples of the two states and of all peoples of the world;” America laughs as Russia continues to repeat the treaty their bosses signed that day. “Considering the respective interests of the Parties in the potential for commercial applications of space technologies for the general benefit…” America pulls Russia’s head down to kiss him, shutting him up and that’s satisfying as hearing him reaffirm their new position, their new relationship.

“I’m looking to exploring space with you.” He tries to sound seductive, muttering it after his kiss but he sounds too excited to pull it off. Russia pats his head, which is more patronising than anything else, but his face has the same look at it did when they talked about the treaty after escaping to the Rose Garden.

* * *

“C’mon, let’s go outside.”  He doesn’t ask him why he wanted to leave, but he takes Russia’s hand and leads him outside into the cooler night air. Russia lets him do it, mumbling in Russian as they go into the Rose Garden.  They sit down on the bench and America looks up at the night sky. A full moon is glowing in the sky, and he shuts one eye to pinch it between his finger and thumb again. He hears Russia laugh; he puts his arm down, opens his eye and grins at him. “My moon’s pretty nice, huh?”

“I thought you did it for all humanity.” Russia replies, his words sound a little bitter.

“I did! I was able to prove to Japan that there’s no rabbit making mochi on the moon. ”

“Typical idiot American, spending billions to prove that…” But his voice isn’t bitter as he says it and America’s pleased that his attempt to lighten the mood worked.

“It’s for all of us. The moon, the stars, it’s for all of us.” They fall silent for a moment.

“This new program is what you wanted, da?”

“Yeah, it makes sense. Our space budgets are getting slashed now we’re not trying to blow each other up, we’ll never get a space station otherwise.”

“I have one.”

“Tsh, one that isn’t held together with duct tape.”  Russia gives him a smile that says ‘I could strangle you now and make sure nobody ever found the body’ and he should be intimidated but it just makes him laugh instead. “And I know someday we’ll probably involve other countries, but I’ll always think of it as being ours first.”

Russia stands up and looks at America. His face is serious, and America wonders what he’s said wrong this time.

“America. I want this to be the treaty we fuck for.” America feels his mouth go “oh” but the sound doesn’t actually come out. It’s the bluntest proposition he’s ever received and he almost wants to ask why he wants it to be this treaty instead one of the others they’ve signed over the past five years. But when he actually thinks about it, it’s obvious.

It’s about space. It’s about them sharing something that they both care about so deeply.

It’s about _them_ and not the political needs of their leaders. America smiles, it’s not smug and he hopes it conveys what he’s feeling. From the look on Russia’s face, it does.

He nods and says “okay” because it is.

* * *

Russia pushes him down, pulling off his pants in a hurry and now his tension has gone he eagerly helps him out. Russia bites his neck as he pulls them off from his ankles and he only vaguely notices that his boxers have gone with them too.

Russia then takes his cock into his hand and starts stroking and America isn’t thinking about anything anymore. One hand slips down to his balls and then he touches them America nearly kicks him as he jerks up because he is just sensitive to touch there.  Russia hums as he moves down America’s body, biting on his nipples (and he jerks again because jesus he is just too fucking sensitive today) and takes his balls into his mouth.

This time America does actually kick him as he jerks again, but Russia ignores the kick towards his stomach as he sucks on them, looking up at America’s face to gauge his reaction. His face is flushed and his eyes are clouded over until he realizes Russia is looking at him.

“Move your mouth, will you?” He manages to get out, his voice almost sounding forceful like he can get it to go at meetings, but Russia moves his mouth away to smile at him and he whines in complaint.

“What’s the magic word?” He glares at Russia because damn it, he’s horny and he just wants his mouth on his cock and not to play games like this.

“Now!” Russia snorts but he moves his head back down and takes America’s cock into his mouth. He teases the head and America groans, feeling his eyes roll back into his head. He hears Russia undoing his pants with one hand, and if he didn’t have a mouth around his cock he’d be getting worried because he knows Russia’s cock is big and even with proper stretching it’s going to hurt.

But when he feels the cold press of lube covered fingers pushing into him, he gets himself to relax. He curls his fingers upwards once he’s comfortable and starts moving his fingers, slowly but deeply right until –

America sees stars as Russia’s fingers hit that spot inside him. He thrusts deeper into Russia’s mouth and he’s dangerously close to coming before Russia even starts fucking him. Russia removes his mouth and stops moving his fingers.

“Don’t come.” Russia tells him as he starts to move his fingers again, and America wants to snap that he’s not a teenager he can hold it when Russia hits his prostate again.

“Then…fuck me already.” He manages to spit out. Russia leans up to kiss him as he removes his fingers from America and starts to lube himself up. It’s a soft touch of the lips, and then Russia is aiming himself up against America’s entrance, helping him to hold his legs up. He looks at America, eyes wide, and leans down to kiss his neck before whispering in his ear. He doesn’t know what the Russian means but the softness tells him it’s important[2].

Russia pushes into him and he feels the slow burn as he stretches. It is slow and despite his size it’s not as painful as he expected. When Russia is all the way inside he opens his eyes again and meets the eyes of the other nation.

“I won.” America frowns but decides as Russia starts to thrust that he doesn’t care if Russia thinks he’s won because really they’re both winners here, just like in the Cold War if he’s being honest. Russia hits his prostate again and he lets out a stream of unintelligible curses, because this feels amazing and it’s _Russia_ of all people, all nations, who’s fucking him like this.

He looks up at Russia as his arm wrap around him, trying to get him to go deeper even though there’s nowhere for him to go, the sweat running down his face and he can’t see those lavender eyes because he’s shut them. He wants to open them again because he wants to see the eyes of the nation he’s sharing the one thing he loves more than anything with.

Russia hits that spot one more time and he’s undone, his mind completely blank as he comes, on their stomachs as Russia continues to thrust. As he comes off his high, head spinning, he feels Russia stiffen and then growing warmth inside him as he comes. Russia pulls out and moves to collapse on the other side of him. They’re catching their breath and America is filled with things he wants to say but he wants to keep the moment like this, just both of them next to each other, heads empty and breathing together.

Once his breathing has steadied, he looks at Russia and smiles.

“I want to go there with you.” He knows it’s the right thing because Russia doesn’t ask him to explain, he just knows where America is talking about.

“You would share a small space with me for weeks?” America scrunches his brow at that. He’s never really thought about it but the inside of a spacecraft is a very confined space. 

“You’ll have to promise not to fart all the time.” He responds, and it’s not romantic pillow talk but it makes Russia laugh.

“There are other things I’d rather do with you in space, comrade.”

“Don’t call me comrade, it gives me the creeps.” He snaps back, ignoring the innuendo. He knows it’s unlikely that they will ever be allowed to go by themselves, almost impossible to go together, but isn’t that what they said about reaching the moon once upon a time?

“One day.” Russia says, and he can hear it in his voice that he’s drifting off. He turns over to look at him and Russia opens one eye to look at him. “Sleep.” He commands and today America will obey his once arch-enemy.

He can worry about the walk of shame past the security guards later. Tonight it’s just about space, and just about them.

  


* * *

[1] The treaty he’s quoting is the ‘Agreement Between the United States of America and the Russian Federation. Concerning Cooperation in the Exploration and Use of Outer Space for Peaceful Purposes’. Snappy title. From http://www.jaxa.jp/library/space_law/chapter_4/4-2-2-6_e.html

[2] Russia says Поехали ( _Here we go)_ , which happens to be the same thing Gagarin said as he was launched into space.


End file.
